


With Flickering Heart

by Calliope Starling (CitrusApple)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Apologies, Explicit Sexual Content, Geralt needs a nap, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, I had too many feelings, M/M, My poor sweet bard, Porn With Plot, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, more plot than intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusApple/pseuds/Calliope%20Starling
Summary: Months after Geralt blames Jaskier for his burdens, the witcher is brought to an inn to rest after sustaining an injury. Jaskier happens to be performing at that very inn. Angst, feels, and sex ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 52
Kudos: 796
Collections: Best Geralt





	With Flickering Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, read-  
> *coughs upon walking into clouds of dust and cobwebs* *sweeps them away and clears throat*  
> Hello, readers!  
> Wow, it's been a long time since I've gotten the itch and the inspiration to write something. Far too long. But I'm back, and with an entirely new fandom ventured into! Writing-wise, anyway. I've been in the Witcher fandom for a while.
> 
> Much like many others here, I too have jumped onto the Jaskier's-hurt-and-Geralt-needs-to-apologize bandwagon. I had an incredible amount of feels after episode six and I couldn't hold them back.
> 
> I have not read the books, so this fic is based on the games and the show. Jaskier specifically is almost entirely based on the Netflix portrayal. Because I love him.
> 
> This is dedicated to Arabella_Strangeways, Dominion_of_Dust1886, and AubrynnMaxwell. Welcome to the fandom, poppets. <3
> 
> Happy reading!

_Come quell your daughter’s hunger_ Jaskier crooned, milking that final note.

But the moment where applause and the clinking of coins should have resounded was replaced by the din of the inn door flying open as two of the town’s residents escorted in none other than Geralt, a bare, muscled arm slung around each of their shoulders and water dripping from his tousled mane. One of them was carrying Geralt’s jerkin and shirt in his free hand.

Jaskier’s heart raced and his smile fell as the heads of the patrons (who had been _enjoying_ his performance, thank you very much) pivoted in unison to gasp and gawk at the shirtless witcher, who seemed a bit delirious, eyes open but unseeing. He was grateful for that, as he wasn’t sure he wanted Geralt to notice him. It had been a few months, but the wound to his ego still stung whenever he was reminded of the white wolf.

The two residents hauling the mass that was Geralt up to the bar turned out to be the town’s healer and his brother, a hunter.

“Oi, have you got a spare bed for him?” the hunter asked the innkeeper.

“Yeah, one room left,” she replied. “What happened to him?”

“He took out that pack of wargs what’s been after the livestock,” explained the hunter. “Got a few nasty bites for his trouble, he did. I found him when I’d gone out looking for another deer.”

“He got what appears to be two, maybe three bites under his shoulder,” the healer said, motioning to Geralt’s wrapped arm. “I patched him up and he’ll be fine, but he needs to rest. The ealdorman sent the coin with us to pay for the room.” He pulled a small pouch from his pocket and gave it to the innkeeper. “I think he’s feeling generous. He put up that posting for the wargs weeks ago and now this witcher comes along and takes care of the lot without even knowing about it.”

The innkeeper smiled and turned to fetch the key. “Good on him, then. I’ll give him an ale on the house when he comes out.”

“Thanks,” said the healer, taking the key. “His horse is here, we tied her up outside. Ealdorman said the witcher can come collect his coin for the posting when he wakes, so tell him that too.”

Jaskier and the rest of the crowd watched as the two men escorted Geralt to his room.

“I’d toss a coin to that witcher,” a woman spoke up. “I’d bounce it right off that arse of his!” Laughter rang out.

“I’d toss a coin to you to see that, Millie,” the innkeeper chuckled.

“Oi, bard! How about that witcher song?!” another patron shouted, the rest clapping or cheering in agreement.

Jaskier sighed. They’d finally remembered he was still there and all they wanted him to do was sing that damned song. He’d wish he hadn’t written it if it hadn’t helped provide him with the means to travel and pay for rooms and drinks. He lifted his hands in apology, the lute strapped to him swaying slightly.

“Sorry, folks. I don’t sing that one anymore.”

A round of boos accompanied a round of vegetables being thrown at him.

“Oh, no thank you,” he called out, attempting to dodge as much of the flying produce as he could. “I’ve already eaten.”

A tankard with just enough ale left in it to splash onto his chin did just that as it hit him square in the collarbone. “Thank you, Millie” he grit out to the giggling woman before wiping the beverage from his face.

Supposing that was that for the coin for the night, Jaskier scooped up what he’d gotten and slumped off toward his room. As he neared his door, the two brothers came out of Geralt’s room and closed the door behind them. Of course he’d be in the one next to Jaskier’s.

“You sure he’s gonna be alright?” Jaskier overheard the hunter ask his brother as he slowly unlocked the door to his room, pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping. “Lost a lot of blood, yeah?”

“Yes, a fair amount,” the healer replied. “But I was most precise with my work. Sleep and a good meal should do the rest.”

“Still can’t believe you washed his hair for him.”

“It was sopping with warg innards, I felt it only right to clean him up a bit. Had to wash the blood off him anyway.”

That was all Jaskier heard before the two were out of earshot. He closed his door quietly behind him, set his lute down, and added his earnings to his coin pouch. Then he stripped to his smalls and fell face down onto the mattress, trying to calm his flickering heart and think of anyone or anything but the Witcher in the next room.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Jaskier was up just before the sun, unable to get any more sleep aside from the two times he’d managed to doze off for no more than an hour each during the night. He’d been restless, tossing and turning between thoughts of caring and not caring for Geralt’s well-being.

But he’d settled on caring, damn his heart, and decided he’d check in on Geralt before setting off for the next inn. Just a peek, and then he could slip out the door with the witcher being none the wiser. A simple plan.

Once he’d dressed and gathered his belongings, he left his room and brought the key to the bar, leaving it on the counter. He went back to Geralt’s room and, recalling that the brothers never locked the door behind them, slowly nudged himself through and quietly closed it behind him.

He set his things down before making his way toward Geralt, eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the room. As he knelt at the side of the bed, he could see the bandage wrapped tightly from deltoid to bicep. No blood had soaked through, so that was good. But Geralt’s breathing wasn’t audible and Jaskier didn’t want to feel for a pulse for fear of waking him. So he leaned in and held a palm over those barely parted lips, hoping to feel a puff of air.

The floorboard chose that moment, the most inopportune moment of all, to creak.

Geralt’s eyes snapped open, golden irises remarkably bright in the dark room. A big hand shot out to grab Jaskier, taking a fistful of the fabric that was Jaskier’s collar and tugging it closer with a growl.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelped, voice tight. “It’s me, it’s Jaskier! Let go!”

Bleary eyes blinked into realization as the figure before him started to look familiar. “Jaskier?” The bard nodded frantically, unable to speak for once. “Fuck.” He let go of the collar and Jaskier fell backward to the floor, coughing and sputtering.

“You… you prize idiot…” Jaskier wheezed once his larynx mustered enough tone. “Have you taken leave of your senses?!”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, and Jaskier figured that was as close to “sorry” as he was going to get.

“Well, you’re clearly not dead, so I’m leaving before you can damage my vocal cords further.”

“Wait,” Geralt requested. A groan emitted from him as he tried to push himself to a sitting position with his arms, and he fell back to the propped up pillows with a wince. “What happened to me?”

“Don’t remember much?”

“I… remember the wargs. Someone took me out of the woods…” Geralt paused, put his nose near his shoulder, and sniffed. “Did someone wash my hair?”

Jaskier sat down on the side of the bed and leaned in for the scent. “Smells like dandelions.”

Geralt shook his head. “Buttercups, more like.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Anyway, it happened like this. I was at the final fermata of my song. The patrons were practically eating out of my hand, ready to give me their biggest applause yet—“

“Get to the point, bard, or I’ll choke you again.”

Jaskier swallowed nervously. “Fine. I had just finished my song when the local healer and his brother dragged your half-conscious arse in here. They said they found you in the forest after you’d killed some wargs and were bitten. After they got you to town, the healer patched you up, did the noses of the populous a favor by washing away the warg guts and who knows what else, and brought you here to rest.”

“Hmm. Roach, where’s Roach?”

“She’s tied up outside, safe and sound.”

Geralt let out a relieved sigh. “Anything else?”

“Um… oh yes. Apparently the ealdorman had put up a contract for those wargs weeks ago, but you just happened to stumble upon them. He’s delighted, paid for your room, et cetera. You can collect the reward from him before you leave town.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Eloquent as ever.” He stood, ready to leave. “So long, Geralt.”

“Wait, Jaskier.” Geralt winced again as he raised his warg-bit arm to clasp Jaskier’s wrist. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

Jaskier tugged his wrist out of Geralt’s grasp, the motion pulling on the shoulder and drawing an “ow” from Geralt. Jaskier ignored it. “Don’t pretend you care.”

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed. “We need to talk.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I have no words for you, Geralt.”

“I find that hard to believe.” A smirk curled his lip before he could stop it, and Jaskier spotted it, thanks to the light from the sunrise starting to peek in through the gap between the curtains. He pursed his lips and smacked Geralt’s arm, not directly over the wound but close enough to it where it would still smart. “Hey!” Geralt yelled.

“Oh, get over it. You _punched_ me, if you recall. Right in the diaphragm, no less, I do use that, you know. Very important for proper breathing for singers.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Must be worn down to the nub anyway, what with all the talking you do.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell agape. “I take umbrage to that… at least I speak with grace and flair, unlike you! ‘Hmm. Fuck. Hmm. Fuck.’ That’s all you say! Oh, lest I forget the occasional ‘Jaskier, it’s your fault my life is shite and it’d be a blessing if you’d disappear’ but then it’s right back to the usual!”

The almost-sob Jaskier uttered at the part about disappearing didn’t escape Geralt’s ears. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Guilt that he’d tried to push out of his mind for a while was re-emerging. He had to fix this. “Jaskier… come sit down. Please.”

“No.” He wouldn’t look at Geralt then.

“Please?”

Jaskier hesitated but returned to sit on the bed, head down, still refusing to look at him. His hands briefly lifted to his face before he clasped them tightly in his lap. _Damn it._

“You’re… right, Jaskier. It wasn’t your fault.” No reaction yet. “I was frustrated. Angry. Unwilling to listen to any more about destiny and child surprises, and Yennefer was pissed, and… hmm.” Still no reaction. “You were always there. An easy scapegoat for me, but you didn’t deserve that. And no matter how awful I was to put up with, you stuck by. Trying to make the best of it. Looking out for me. And the bit with the chamomile.”

The slightest of laughs, no more than a puff of air, escaped Jaskier at that. Geralt hoped that meant he was breaking through and continued.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. For the way I treated you then, and today. Please, forgive me. You’re…” Geralt swallowed hard. “You’re important to me.” Jaskier looked up at him then, eyes shining. Geralt lifted his good hand and held it out to him. “Friends?”

Jaskier gave him a shaky smile before pushing his hand away and leaning down for a careful hug instead. It might have been a risky move otherwise, but Geralt was in no position to refuse it this time. The witcher emitted a slight grunt in protest, but gave in and lightly wrapped his arm around Jaskier.

“Friends, Geralt,” the bard spoke softly. “Thank you.” He lifted his head to smile at him.

“But if you breathe a word of that chamomile bit, in song or otherwise, the deal’s off.”

Jaskier laughed heartily then, Geralt even joining in with an unabashed grin. The beams from the sun had further filled the room, and at the sight of the sparkling gold gaze and smile he knew was reserved just for him, Jaskier dipped his head down and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s surprisingly soft lips. It was only a moment later that he was gently pushed back, seeing Geralt’s eyebrows practically halfway up his forehead. Anxiety and panic wasted no time setting in.

“Shit. Geralt, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Um… we’ll p-pretend it didn’t happen.”

Jaskier moved to leave but Geralt’s hand held him there, gentle yet firm. He said nothing, but his expression had confusion and curiosity written all over it.

After an audible gulp, Jaskier sat back up. “You’re wondering why?” At Geralt’s slow nod, he began to explain himself. “Well, Geralt, all the things I say about you in my songs… it’s all true.” Geralt raised a brow and sighed through his nose. “No, not… not those parts,” Jaskier corrected. “The parts about your bravery, your strength. All you go through to track down these monsters and not just kill them all, but _help_ them. Undoing curses, getting the ones out for revenge to see reason. Tracking down scary witches to save my ass when I piss off a djinn. You don’t have to do it, you could say ‘fuck this, I’m putting down my swords and retiring to a vineyard in Toussaint’ at any time.”

Geralt chuckled then. “Me, retiring to a vineyard? Pshaw.”

“I know you get my drift, Geralt. Anyway, you do such amazing things, and you don’t get appreciated for them. Aside from this town… these people have been uncharacteristically kind to you. *gasp* Maybe my tunes are doing some good for your reputation after all? Hmmmmm?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier sighed. “What I’m trying to say is… I really admire you. I could never be that strong, that daring. My music brightens many a weary spirit, but you are out there every day saving lives at great cost to your own. I’m unequivocally in awe of you, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt’s expression had softened into something entirely unreadable to Jaskier. He’d never seen the witcher look at anyone that way. Before he could ask Geralt to please say something before he made a bigger fool of himself than he thought he surely had already, Geralt’s hand was on the back of his head, drawing him closer for another kiss. Jaskier wanted to melt right into it, but his nerves wouldn’t let him settle, and this time he was the one pulling away.

“You don’t have to… I mean, I didn’t even think you were into men.”

Geralt shrugged a shoulder. “Kind of. I generally go for women, but I’m open. Though it’s been a couple decades for me since that. I didn’t know you were either, the way you boast of your ‘sexual achievements’ with women.”

“I’m open too. I just don’t ever get the opportunity with men. I only experienced it once. Afterward, he said we shouldn’t speak of it to anyone, which I understood. But then he wouldn’t even speak to me again. I never learned if it was something I did or said… it was just done.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Other men, well… they either put down my advances or I was beaten up for it.”

“Jaskier…”

“At least my fellow musicians who know about it don’t judge me.”

“Jaskier.”

“But that’s all in the past, and I’ve come to realize that—“

“Jaskier!” Geralt sat up then, his injury be damned.

“What?”

Geralt placed his hand on Jaskier’s cheek. “Hush,” he softly directed before kissing him ardently, pouring all he couldn’t express with his words into it.

Jaskier kissed back eagerly, sighing into Geralt’s mouth and holding him around his waist. When Geralt’s lips parted, Jaskier’s tongue slid in to meet his and Geralt moaned so prettily Jaskier thought he might die right then and there.

Geralt tugged at Jaskier’s collar again, trying to remove the garment this time. Jaskier shrugged the shoulders off to assist and removed the doublet, allowing Geralt to tug off the shirt underneath. Then those big hands were on Jaskier’s chest, rubbing up and down his sides, around to his spine, tugging a nipple lightly on their way down to his hips.

“Geralt…” Jaskier groaned, voice already teetering on the edge of roughness. “Are you sure you want this? Want me? I can take it if you don’t but I don’t want your pity…”

Geralt gestured down to his hips and Jaskier craned his neck to see a tenting starting under the blanket Geralt’s legs were still covered by.

Jaskier swallowed. “Well then. I suppose the proof is in the filling.”

Geralt chuckled softly before throwing the blanket to the side. Jaskier was surprised to see he was only in his smalls.

“Did those brothers manage to get your trousers off of you too?”

Geralt looked as surprised as Jaskier did. He glanced around the room until he spotted his full set of armor laid neatly on a dresser. “Guess so.”

Jaskier smiled. “Lovely, obliging fellows” he commented before standing to remove his own trousers.

“Uh, do you have oil with you?” Geralt asked him. “None of mine are meant for this sort of thing.”

Jaskier dropped his trousers on the floor and raised a brow at him. “I am not so far gone for you that I carry a supply of oil with me at all times on the off chance that you decide to waltz into the inn I’m performing at, _figuratively_ sweep me off my feet with your apology, _literally_ sweep me off my feet, and fuck me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him in amusement.

Jaskier gave a sulky look. “… Damn it.” Geralt smirked and shook his head as he watched him fetch a bottle and a cloth from his pack. By the time Jaskier turned back to the bed, Geralt had already pitched his smalls over by the rest of his armor and was sitting with his legs outstretched, knees slightly bent. Jaskier nearly dropped the bottle at the sight of Geralt fully naked, giving him a clear-toned whistle, descending in pitch. “Wow, Geralt.” He tugged his smalls off and let them drop, and then it was Geralt’s turn to take in the view.

“Hmm…” he hummed, eyes roaming appreciatively over the entirety of Jaskier’s body. “So you want me to fuck you?”

Jaskier nodded. “For the record, though, I would also accept the reverse. Just putting that out there.”

He handed Geralt the bottle and Geralt took his hand, guiding him to kneel over him, straddling his thighs. The bottle was uncorked, a generous amount dispensed over the witcher’s thick fingers.

“Don’t you want me turned around?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt set the bottle on the end table and shook his head. “No. Just like this.”

He leaned in to kiss Jaskier, waiting only a few seconds before dipping his oiled hand between the bard’s legs and carefully entering him with one finger to start. With their mouths fit perfectly together, Geralt felt the hum of each moan Jaskier gave while he was preparing him, enjoying how they increased in frequency as Geralt added a second finger, and later a third.

Jaskier was really getting into then, hips moving in little beats. Geralt noticed and broke their kiss, stroking the bard’s kiss-swollen lips with a thumb.

“Go ahead, Jaskier. Take what you need.”

Jaskier cried out, letting himself move harder into it, his legs working to propel himself up and down.

“That’s it. Fuck my fingers,” Geralt groaned, earning another loud moan from Jaskier.

Geralt’s fingers pressed deeper into the heat each time Jaskier fucked down onto them, the tips crooking to find and brush against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside.

Jaskier’s breath was coming out in shuddering pants. His balls were buoyant against Geralt’s wrist, sliding in the oil that had drizzled down from his fingers, those very fingers which were doing a number on his arousal and hardening his cock until it felt like marble. Oh valley of penis, indeed.

Not long later, he felt himself nearing the edge and slowed the rolling of his hips as he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips.

“You ready?” Geralt asked against his mouth. At Jaskier’s fervent nod, he pulled his fingers out, reached for the oil, and quickly slicked his length. Then he placed his hands on Jaskier’s ass, gently guiding him to hover above him, the tip pressing between his cheeks.

Jaskier relaxed his muscles as much as he could and lowered himself carefully, murmuring “fuck, fuck, fuck” with each inch he took in. Geralt held still, letting the bard take as much time as he needed.

Once Jaskier was fully seated, Geralt took Jaskier’s hands and placed one on his good shoulder, the other against his neck. “Hold on,” he instructed before lifting Jaskier up with his thighs, swiveling so his legs hung over the side and his feet hit the floor. Jaskier barely had time to ask Geralt what he was doing before he was lifted and pressed against the nearest wall.

Jaskier cried out in astonishment, his nails digging hard into Geralt’s shoulder and the nape of his neck as Geralt began thrusting up into him. The thought of leaving little scars of his own doing on Geralt’s marred skin made his cock twitch and he moaned, pressing his nails in even deeper.

Geralt groaned then, having the same thought in his head, unbeknownst to the man he was fucking. Having marks cut into his body from passion rather than malice was turning him on further. His chest pushed Jaskier harder against the wall as his hips bucked faster.

Jaskier’s cries crescendoed and he took Geralt’s hair into a fist. He was completely beside himself. He’d wanted Geralt for a while and had wanted to do this in general for much longer. The thought had all but perished for him, having given up the idea of getting to experience it ever again, and especially not with someone he cared so much for. But here it was, out of his hands and off into the wild before he could wrap his head around the fact that it was happening, and it was magical, and oh gods, Geralt’s cock was driving intensely into that perfect spot inside him and he didn’t recognize his own voice anymore.

Geralt’s eyes locked with his then, understanding in the amber traces that hadn’t been taken over by pupil. “Let it come, Jaskier.”

Merely two thrusts later, at a pitch the other tenors in the troupes would have been jealous of, Jaskier sang out his pleasure as he came, untouched, the orgasm long and intense. His head thunked against the wall as he gasped rapidly.

Geralt grunted, the feeling of Jaskier coming undone around him bringing him closer to the edge. But his injured arm was betraying him, beginning to quiver, and he was finding it harder to hold Jaskier up.

Jaskier finally forced his eyes open and noticed Geralt’s struggle. “Hey, why don’t we take this back to the bed? Fantastic as this was, I would feel most terrible if you worsened that arm because of me.” Geralt nodded, panting, and set Jaskier on his feet before pulling out of him. He followed Geralt the short distance to the bed and climbed in atop him again. “What do you want, Geralt? Anything you desire.”

Geralt didn’t waste a beat. “I want you to fuck me now.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open wide and his cock twitched with renewed interest. “Oh, Melitele preserve me.”

He reached for the bottle on the end table and poured most of what was left of the oil onto his fingers.

“Jaskier, you needn’t bother, I’m fine without that.”

He gave the witcher an incredulous look. “You really are short of a marble. High pain tolerance or not, this is going to smart if it’s been two decades since you last did this. And I always take care of my partners.”

“Hmm. Fine.”

Jaskier simply tutted at Geralt as he tried to give him the same careful preparation Geralt had given him. But the witcher pushed his hand away far too soon, even smacking his wrist when Jaskier tried to resume.

“Geralt, come on,” Jaskier complained without looking up at him. “I only just had the second finger in.” Geralt responded with an indignant growl which Jaskier mocked as he tried to resume once again. Honestly, he didn’t get why Geralt was acting like that. He’d given Jaskier what was probably… no, most certainly the best orgasm of his life and Jaskier merely wanted to make Geralt feel that good in return.

“Bard!”

Jaskier startled and finally looked up at his face, the quick rise and fall of his chest, the hard, reddened cock resting against his lower abdomen. “Geralt, you’ll feel this for a week.”

Geralt rolled his eyes; he couldn’t believe he had to spell it out for him. “Maybe that’s what I want.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Jaskier slicked his cock with the last of the oil and threw the empty bottle aside, not caring that it smashed to bits in the corner. After a few strokes to confirm solidity, he lined himself up and pushed in, filling Geralt in one thrust.

“F-Fuck…” Geralt stammered, music to Jaskier’s ears. And he knew music.

Jaskier set off on his own quest, in search of the spot that would drive Geralt crazy. When he hadn’t appeared to have found it after a few minutes, he lowered himself so his chest pressed against Geralt’s and lifted one of the witcher’s knees, hoisting it over his shoulder.

The next thrust in proved the winner, Jaskier’s smile beaming as he watched Geralt’s head press back into the pillows and his fists clutch the linens underneath them.

He pressed that smile against Geralt’s mouth. “Mmm… this reminds me of a song.”

“If you start singing now, Jaskier, I swear—“

“No, no… this one’s instrumental.”

With that, Jaskier slipped his right hand between them and lightly took Geralt’s cock in his fingers, tapping a rhythm against it.

Geralt cursed and moaned and panted, the series of light touches stimulating him in a new and thrilling way.

Jaskier began thrusting with vigor, picking up tempo as he drove right where Geralt needed him to, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. His fingers continued their song, strumming and plucking up and down Geralt’s length like he was playing his lute.

A light tug on the head of Geralt’s cock with all five fingers pushed him over the precipice. A rough cry escaped Geralt as he came hard, wrapping one arm around Jaskier’s back while the other remained gripping the sheet. Ribbons of white-hot pleasure shot out, spilling between them.

Jaskier’s second orgasm took him by surprise, brought on by the sight of having brought Geralt to bliss. Everything he had left to give poured generously into Geralt as he lowered his head and moaned against the witcher’s collarbone.

They each bucked their hips a bit more, chasing the aftershocks before letting themselves come down from the high. Jaskier pulled out, reached for the cloth on the end table, and cleaned them both up before settling into the mattress, curled up against and pressing kisses to Geralt’s chest.

A gruff moan broke the silence. “I’d say that was your best performance yet, bard.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but blush. “What can I say? I aim to please.” Geralt rolled his eyes but chuckled as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “You were magnificent, by the way,” Jaskier continued. “What a song our bodies composed.”

“Still in ‘awe’ of me?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier lifted his head to look him in the eyes. “Unequivocally,” he answered before giving Geralt a long, soft kiss.

They laid in rare silence for a while, fully contented and carefree. Until Jaskier’s expression became pensive, Geralt taking notice as he rolled on his side to face him.

“Something on your mind, Jaskier?”

Jaskier shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Hmm. It’s never nothing with you. C’mon, you can tell me.”

Jaskier sighed. “I apologize for this popping into my head now, but… what about Yennefer? That still a… thing?”

Geralt raised a brow and smirked as his arm tightened around Jaskier. “Who’s Yennefer?”

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write out the sex scene so both of them could have a turn at topping because, while I see a lot of arguments for bottom!Geralt being the "right" way, I don't believe for a second that given the opportunity, Jaskier wouldn't let that witcher plough him until next Feainn. So... best of both worlds. ;)


End file.
